


on the cusp of getting it right

by humanveil



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-20 01:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14885327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humanveil/pseuds/humanveil
Summary: “Are we dating?” Tony says. “Because it feels like we’re dating.”





	on the cusp of getting it right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tarlan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/gifts).



> tarlan, i loved your prompts and i really hope you enjoy this!
> 
> note: tony/pepper isn’t addressed in this. in my mind their relationship is pretty open and i work under the assumption of polyamory, but you can think whatever you’d like.

“Sugar or milk?”

There’s a pause, followed by Stephen’s voice coming through the phone. “What?”

“Sugar or milk,” Tony repeats. “In your coffee. Do you take it?”

“Why?” Stephen says, and Tony rolls his eyes, sends the awe-struck barista an apologetic look.

“Because I’m making a spreadsheet,” he says, sarcastic. “Why do you think? I’m buying coffee. Now tell me how you like it, or you’ll get stuck with my order. And Pepper calls that acidic sludge.”

Stephen is silent for a beat. And then, “Iced.”

 _Of course_ , Tony thinks. Relays the order back to the barista. “Great. I’ll be there in ten,” he tells Stephen, ignoring his questions as he hangs up the phone. He slips it back inside his pocket, passes his card to the barista with a sigh. “Wizards,” he says, as if it’s something everyone will understand. The girl behind the counter fumbles a bit, expression confused, but Tony ignores it as she hands his card back. Moves to the side to wait for his order.

And that’s how it starts: a phone call, a coffee, and an unexpected visit.

—

The aftermath isn’t easy. Tony keeps waiting for things to return to normal, but they don’t.

There’s only passing moments. Fleeting episodes of peace and calm where he can pretend like things are fine. People will drop by the Compound, or Peter will call with a daily report, or Rhodey will take him out to dinner, and it will _feel_ normal. Will almost feel like things used to. But Tony will know better—the trauma lingering even as the world moves on.

He supposes it’s silly, to come so close to the end of the universe and still expect for things to be fine, but they’d _won_. Eventually. Blood and sweat and tears finally paying off in battle like no other. He’d wielded the gauntlet—had reversed Thanos’ snap with an act of power so overwhelming it’d been terrifyingly beautiful. People had returned, alive and solid. He sees no reason to still be affected by it.

_And yet._

—

“Again?”

Tony grins as the Sanctum door opens, reaches up to remove the glasses from his face. “Good to see you, too, doc,” he says, stepping past Stephen and into the entryway uninvited.

“You might’ve called,” Stephen tells him. “For all you know, we could be battling Mindless Ones right now.”

“That’s half the fun,” Tony says. “Besides,” he lifts his hand to tap against his chest, “I’d be prepared.”

“That’s not to point.”

Tony hums, lifts his arm to showcase the bags in his hand. “I brought food,” he says. “From that Deli you like. The cashier recognised your order.”

Wong’s head peaks out from the hallway, and Tony outstretches his arm like a greeting, grinning as the other man walks forward.

Stephen turns to look at his friend. “You’re okay with this?” he asks, brow arched.

Wong lifts his shoulder in a half shrug. “My tolerance can be bought,” he says, taking the bags from Tony, and Stephen sighs.

“This guy gets it,” Tony murmurs, following Wong to where they usually eat.

Stephen sees no other choice but to follow.

—

Tony’s visits increase as times goes by. Once every now and then turns to two, three times a week—until his presence at the Sanctum is something to be expected.

There are two memorable occasions where he _does_ walk in on some interdimensional battle, another where he shows up to discover the doors to every other room open up to somewhere he’s certain isn’t part of their reality. Stephen handles it all with calm precision, barely batting an eye at things that could drive other people insane, and Tony watches it unfold with poorly veiled fascination. Whole body itching with the urge to understand more, to examine every aspect of Stephen’s ability until he’s an expert in _Strange_.

He can’t help it. Magic, sorcery—it’s alluring in ways he can’t explain. He’d believed in it as a child, if only barely. But fantasy was quickly replaced by reality, by science. By Howard’s lessons and cold, hard facts. And when he was given proof of its existence, it wasn’t the childlike dream—it was space and threats and alien armies and death. Was things he found no joy in.

With Stephen, though… it’s different.

—

He arrives at the Sanctum one morning, brow arching when the door opens to reveal Stephen, his expression almost apologetic.

“I have to go to Kamar-Taj,” he says by way of explanation, and Tony nods.

“Do your thing, Gandalf,” he says, grinning as Stephen sighs.

“Stop watching movies with the kid,” is what Stephen tells him. And then, almost hesitant, “You can come, if you’d like. It’s only maintenance.”

And Tony feels like a little kid on Christmas, accepting the offer before he’s even thought it through. He follows Stephen through a portal, walks with him through halls, training fields. Listens as Stephen recounts his own start. The library is his favourite part: every book seemingly more fascinating than the last, and if he weren’t so devout to science, Tony thinks he could lose himself here.

“What’s this one?” He’s pointing toward a thick tome, its cover an intricate pattern of runes.

Stephen moves to stand beside him, glances at the title. “It’s an introduction to the Dark Dimension.”

“Ominous,” Tony murmurs, points to the one beside it. “And that?”

“Creatures,” Stephen tells him. “Magical beings.”

“What,” Tony says, turns to look at him. “Like werewolves?”

Stephen’s eyes flutter shut at the joke, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated. It looks rather pretty on Stephen, Tony thinks. But then, he thinks that about most things.

“I’ve told you, it’s not that kind of magic.”

“How many _kinds_ are there, exactly?” Tony asks. “I mean, what are we working with—tens, hundreds, thousands?”

Stephen blinks, tilts his head. “There’s so much you don’t know,” he says, but the words are not unkind. Are far from it.

Tony pulls a face of mock offence, folds his arms across his chest. “So teach me,” he challenges, and the corner of Stephen’s mouth tilts upwards in a shadow of a smile.

They don’t return to New York until the early hours of the morning.

—

Insomnia is an old friend, the bone deep exhaustion that comes with staying awake for four, five days at a time a familiarity. Tony is hardly surprised when the sleepless nights start.

Most nights, he finds ways to occupy himself—starts projects, works on suit improvements. Things he can fixate on for days at a time, until Rhodey shows up in his lab, grip tight as he wrestles Tony away from his bench and into a shower, his bed, all the while muttering about _four days_ and _self-care_ and _early graves_.

Other nights, though, when nothing can keep his focus, he’ll lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. Will hold his phone in his hand and contemplate calling Stephen for a distraction. It’d be easy, he thinks. Come up with a question, start a conversation, don’t hang up until he can breathe easy again.

He never _does_ do it.

Until tonight.

He listens to the phone ring, twists in his bed. He could’ve sent a text, Tony thinks, but he’s seen the way Stephen’s hands shake, knows that texting might not be an option. The gloves he’s making are still in their developmental stage, and besides, he wants to hear Stephen’s voice. Wants the low, deep tones to settle over him like a blanket.

“Tell me no one’s dying,” Stephen says when he answers the phone, voice groggy and hoarse with sleep. Tony can imagine him on the other end: eyes struggling to stay open, hair mused, body seemingly embedded in the mattress. He can’t help but smile.

“Define dying,” he says, and Stephen groans on the other end.

“Do I need to get up?”

“No,” Tony assures him. “Everyone’s fine. I was just—” He cuts off, exhales. “Can’t sleep.”

“So you called me,” Stephen says, and there’s something soft about his voice—something gentle and loving. Something that makes Tony’s heart melt just a little.

Tony hums. “I have a question about vampires,” he says, and the quiet, amused huff of air he gets in response feels more like a victory than it has any right to. 

—

A few months after Thanos’ defeat, when they’re sitting side by side at the Sanctum, out of breath and exhausted after a struggle with other-dimensional beings, Tony looks at Stephen and says, “Are we dating? Because it feels like we’re dating.”

The words are casual—almost a joke, only Tony is genuine. He’s never exactly been _good_ at this part.

Stephen stills. On the other side of the room, Wong gets to his feet with a mutter of _about bloody time_. Tony turns, grins, watches as he leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

“I think that’s a yes,” Tony says. He turns back to Stephen, eyebrows raising when he finds him struggling against the pull of the Cloak, who’s trying to bring them closer together. “Double yes,” Tony says, meets Stephen’s eyes. “Try for a triple?”

“If you’re up for it,” Stephen murmurs, playing along.

“I think it’s just what the doctor ordered,” Tony answers, leaning in to stifle Stephen’s answering sigh with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> comments & kudos = ♡♡♡
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/irnstrk) / [tumblr](http://humanveil.tumblr.com/)


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